


No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

by bluespiritx



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Explicit Language, Haunted Houses, M/M, Mild Gore, Pining, Sexual Content, Smoking, Southern Gothic, Weed, daryl fixes shit, paul is a barista, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluespiritx/pseuds/bluespiritx
Summary: *CURRENTLY ON HIATUS*It was like the house had a mind of its own. The window panes shook at night even when there was no wind. The stairs creaked when there was no one on them. The lights flickered in the kitchen. The real estate agent told him that because the house was old, it often settled. But Paul knew from the first night he spent there that there was something much more sinister lurking in the shadows.





	1. Chapter 1

It was like the house had a mind of its own. The window panes shook at night even when there was no wind. The stairs creaked when there was no one on them. The lights flickered in the kitchen. The real estate agent told him that because the house was old, it often settled.  _ Its just the house settling! It’ll be fine.  _ It was the oldest line in the book, but Paul knew from the first night he spent there that there was something much more sinister lurking in the shadows.

He didn’t sense it the first time he was given a tour. It had been during the day, the sun shone through the windows and casted blocks of light on the floor. That day, the house had just seemed very lived in. Some of the paint was peeling, and the floors were scuffed from shoes and chairs and tables being scraped across it. Just an old house that had seen many years and many people.

Paul’s mother and father had helped him move in, which took an entire Saturday to do. They had driven behind his car the whole way from Virginia in the morning and spent afternoon moving boxes into the old plantation house. After insisting that he could unpack on his own, and that his bed, television, and dresser were all he really needed until he could go furniture shopping the next day, his parents hugged him tight and told him that they were only a phone call away. It wasn’t until about an hour after they left did Paul really feel like he wasn’t alone. The sun went down and he decided to get takeout to eat on his living room floor with his DVD of  _ Reservoir Dogs _ playing on his TV.

He first heard footsteps above him. They sounded heavy, like someone was wearing boots and were walking on their heels. He glanced toward the ceiling while he heard it, and froze on the spot. He shook his head and brushed it off. Maybe the new house was haunted, he thought, and that was fine. He’d dealt with this kind of thing before; he believed in the supernatural, and if it was some old soul wandering his house, well he’d just let it live in peace. 

When he was done with his food, he went upstairs to his room and laid on his bed in the dark. He opened the screen on his phone and checked his messages. There was one from his friend Tara saying that she would be at his house the next morning to help him shop for furniture. He went through the rest of his texts, but there was nothing else that was new. He clicked on the name ‘Alex’, and his heart dropped with every message he read. He hadn’t talked to Alex since they broke up, except when Paul had received a message from him this morning saying “Good luck in Georgia!!” Paul had never replied, and figured it was best to just delete the conversation, but for some reason when his finger hovered over the ‘delete’ button, he couldn’t get himself to click it. He sighed and went through his various social media until he felt his eyes start to droop. He clicked his phone shut and put it on the pillow beside him.

Right as he was about to fall into a deep sleep, he heard the footsteps again. This time they were louder, as if someone was outright stomping around, quickly, right below him. His eyes shot open, and he sat up and looked around. The footsteps were still going on, and this wasn’t like any ghost he’d ever heard, so he jumped out of bed and slowly made his way down the hall, careful not to make any noise. Intruders he could deal with; he hadn’t trained in martial arts for the past twelve years for nothing. He made it to the stairs and tiptoed down them, ignoring the small creaks they made and keeping his breathing steady. He was in full stealth mode now, on high alert, ready to defend himself at any given second. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs and faced the living room, the footsteps had stopped completely. He checked the watch on his wrist, which read twelve o’six AM. He looked around the living room, then headed to the kitchen, double checking that the back door and screen were locked tight. He did the same for the front door, then went back to the living room and sat down in front of the TV. He clicked a movie back on for background noise, then scrolled through his contact list on his phone and called Tara.

“Hey babe!” she answered, sounding cheery and wide awake. “How’s the new place? I can’t wait to decorate tomorrow!”

“Hey,” he said happily. “It’s nice, just a little--noisy, I guess.”

“Noisy? Like, your neighbors?” she asked. “I thought it was in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, it is.” He replied, running his hand through his shoulder length hair. “But I mean, the house itself. It’s noisy. It creaks a lot, but I keep hearing really loud footsteps.”

“Maybe its just settling? I mean, it’s old right? My mom always said that old houses settle a lot.” Tara said, sounding a little out of breath. 

Paul rolled his eyes.  _ Old houses just settle. _ “But how does that explain the footsteps?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Tara replied, huffing a bit.

“What are you doing, running a marathon?” Paul asked, trying to ignore the chill running up his spine. “You sound like you can’t breathe.”

“I’m walking home from the Tavern because I was  _ supposed _ to have a girls night with Rosita, but she left with Abe after he showed up and started a fight. Totally dramatic, I’m so annoyed.”

“Why didn’t you just take an uber home?” Paul sighed. “Or a cab?”

“Because, dude, I live like, a block away! I’m not spending money just to make it back to my house three minutes quicker.” She replied. “Do you need me to come there? Must be creepy all alone.”

“It totally is,” Paul said, glancing around him, feeling uncomfortably like he someone--or something--was watching him. “But I think I’ll be okay. Might just stay up and watch movies. Thanks for the offer though. Do you want me to stay on the phone until you’re home?”

“Actually walking in now, but thanks, man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, ten AM.”

“Ten AM.” Tara repeated, and Paul heard a door shut in the background. “Night, Jesus.”

“Night, Tara.”

Paul hung up the phone and turned the TV up a bit so he could hear it. He decided to pull an all nighter, which was going to require more than just sitting in front of his TV. He figured he might as well be productive if he was going to be awake all night. 

He started by turning every light on. The more light, the less creepy the house seemed. He grabbed the bag of cleaning supplies he had bought at the Target in town that day and started on the kitchen. He wiped down the counters, the fridge, and the cabinets. He swept and mopped the floors, cleaned the downstairs bathroom, and sprayed disinfectant around all the rooms on the first floor.  

After he was finished cleaning, Paul started by unpacking his kitchen things. He moved the boxes marked ‘KITCHEN’ one by one and began opening them. He set up his microwave, his toaster oven, and his blender for his morning protein shakes. Next was choosing his silverware drawer (the one right next to the sink) and putting those away accordingly. He put the dishes, glasses, and mugs in their new respective cabinets, and put the pots and pans under the sink. He assorted the snacks and food that he had into cabinets, stored the fruit his mother bought him in the fridge, and put all the grocery bags into a small cabinet next to the sink to use for trash bags later. 

Next, he worked on the living room. There was no couch or end tables yet, but he did have a small bookshelf, a DVD rack, and a CD stand. He switched  _ Reservoir Dogs _ to  _ Pulp Fiction _ as he set his lamp up in a corner and turned it on. Paul grabbed the box of thumbtacks that he packed, and started sorting through his posters. He hung his Bruce Lee one up on one wall next to a window, and his Star Wars one on the opposite wall. 

It was about four in the morning when he finally got most of his stuff unpacked, and thankfully, the sun was starting to come up. He decided to finish off the rest of  _ Pulp Fiction _ , and when it was fairly light outside and the birds started to chirp, Paul decided it was safe enough to sleep. He shut the TV off and dragged himself up the stairs, not realizing how tired his body was until now, and when he reached his bed he set his alarm and then curled up in his blankets, the light morning air drifting through the window, and he fell asleep in a peaceful haze. 


	2. Chapter 2

Paul had slept like the dead in the few hours that he got. Tara came to pick him up at ten, and they headed right into town to the Target they had there. They picked out some cheap side tables for the living room and bedroom, then got an all black couch for the living room. Tara picked out some towels for the bathroom, and stocked the carriage with toilet paper and hand soap. They also managed to get a coffee table at a discount because it wobbled on one of the legs. Once they hauled all of that into the cab of Tara’s truck, they set off to grocery store. Paul and his parents had only grabbed him a few things from the grocery store near the Target, but now he needed to make sure he bought enough food that would last him at least until his first paycheck from his new job. He had gotten a full time job at a local coffee shop, which paid slightly more than minimum wage plus tips, and the woman who owned the shop, Maggie, seemed very nice when she hired him.

    Tara drove them both back to Paul’s house, where they started unloading all of the furniture first. Tara worked on the living room, while Paul started bringing things up to his room.

    “Shit, man, you decorated without me!” Tara gestured to the posters on the wall as Paul came back into the living room.

    Paul laughed under his breath. “Yeah, sorry, I was up all night. Figured I’d get some stuff done if I was going to be awake anyway.”

    “Well, hopefully now that you actually have things in here, it’ll feel a little more like home.” she shrugged. “And, I have some things for you. Just a couple of little housewarming presents.” Tara picked up two bags that hadn’t been unpacked yet and pulled out a box of strung white christmas lights and a thick book with the words _Photos_ on the front, which she handed off to him. “I figured you could use a little cozy ambiance with the christmas lights, and you could use the photo album for photos of friends and family, or maybe your photography…”

    “Tara, thank you,” Paul said, turning the photo album over in his hands, the smooth covers cool against his palms. “Really, these are great.”

    Tara smiled, and hit him on the arm. “Of course, dude. I’m so glad you finally moved out here, everyone can’t wait to see you again.”

    The two finished putting the groceries away and then decided to hang up the christmas lights around the living room. Paul found that Tara was right; the lighting and the furniture really did make it seem a lot more like a home. He had been able to set up his record player on one of the end tables next to the couch and stacked his records on the shelf underneath. When everything was done, they sat back on the couch and Paul turned on the record player as it spun a Hozier album.

    “And to officially make this house your own,” Tara dug around in her bag and pulled out a bag of weed and a bowl. “Care to do the honors, sir?”

    Paul laughed and took the baggie and packed the bowl. He held it up as a toast and smiled at his friend. “To Georgia.” he said, and took the first hit. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he felt all the stresses of the past two months start to slip away. He handed the bowl off to Tara, and they passed it back and forth until it was dead. Tara was looking up at the ceiling, her mouth twitching as if she was going to say something.  
    “Somethin’ up?” Paul asked. Tara was so easy to read, and as long as they’d been friends, he’d picked up on her little quirks.

    She sighed. “Alex has been texting me asking about you.”

    Paul nodded slowly, wiping his hand over his face. He was pretty stoned, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sinking feeling in his stomach.

    “He texted me yesterday telling me good luck out here.” Paul shrugged. “I didn’t answer.”

    “Good.” Tara said, “He doesn’t deserve you after running off with someone else.”

    “It was his boyfriend, Tara.” Paul said quietly. “ _I_ was the someone else.”

    Tara huffed. “Whatever, it’s still not cool and I want to make sure he knows that.”

    “Yeah, well, at least it’s over.” Paul stretched his arms out in front of him and sighed. “Georgia is far enough that I won’t have to see him around anymore.”

    After another bowl and a long talk about what everyone in their friend group had been up to since the last time Paul went to visit, Tara went home and Paul was left to his big empty house again. He decided that maybe he’d feel less creeped out if he slept on the couch, at least then he could keep the TV on to fall asleep. He grabbed his pillows and blankets from his bed and brought them downstairs. He set himself up on the couch and turned on a show to fall asleep to.

 

    _A full moon bright over a field, the water from the creek nearby babbling, the warm breeze swaying the tall grass this way and that._

_A shrill, high pitched scream. Its bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the bones, the gashes and--_

 

    Paul shot up and awake, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, a shiver running through him as he looked around him. He was in his living room, on his couch, the damp blankets tangled around his legs. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the images that had felt seared into his mind. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had seen in his dream, but his skin was crawling and it took a few minutes to regulate his heartbeat.

    It had begun raining at some point in the night, the droplets hitting the windows and making a soft patter on the glass. Paul checked his phone, the bright screen reading _2:36 am_. He glanced around him one more time, still feeling like someone was there with him, someone he just couldn’t see. He shut the TV off and quickly gathered his pillows and his blankets and ran up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him and threw his pillows on his bed and laid down. He curled into his blankets, double checked his phone to make sure his alarms were set, and focused on meditative breathing techniques he learned in training until he was able to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

On Thursday, after waking up right with his alarm, Paul had gone to the coffee shop for his fourth day of work. The cafe was called Greene’s, and it was practically a household name in this town. Everybody went to Greene’s in the mornings to grab their breakfast and coffee; frazzled moms with kids in tow, elderly men and women gossiping together at corner tables. The inside had a very modern, but very cozy vibe.

Maggie popped behind the counter and behind Paul and his coworker, Sasha, printing out receipts and price reports and patting them both on the backs as she walked by them. Paul watched her throw them a thumbs up before wooshing back to the back office. She had been holed up there all day, adding up morning sales from the past months, seeing where they faltered and where they thrived. With all the new restaurants and cafes coming to the main street where Greene’s was, Maggie had immediately jumped on how to make sure they stayed on top, that the business was doing even better than it should be.

“She’s really on a roll in there, huh?” Paul chuckled to Sasha as he filled a cup with black coffee, put a lid and sleeve on it, and handed it to a customer, smiling and wishing them a good day in his best customer service voice.

“Well, can’t say lady doesn’t know how to run a business.” Sasha laughed as she dried the mugs coming out of the dishwasher. “Even with those two new hipster coffee shops that just opened up, this place is just as crazy as ever.”

Paul smiled at that; from the moment he met Maggie he could tell she was serious about this place, and apparently had been running it for five years after she took it over from her stepmom. It was a way for her to make money, but also to keep the family business successful. 

Towards the end of Paul’s shift, the crowd was weeding out, and it was getting near to closing. At around eight, right before they locked the doors, they had a visitor.

A man with shaggy brown hair, a leather vest over a plaid shirt, and the nicest cheekbones Paul had ever seen on a human walked in, asking for Maggie.

“Uh, she’s in the back office.” Paul stuttered, because wow, this guy’s eyes were  _ unreal _ . Electric blue, for the sake of cliches, and so fucking beautiful Paul slapped himself in his mind. Paul smiled at the man grunted and nodded as he headed toward the office door. 

Maggie came out then, smiling and threw her arms around the man. “Daryl! Thank you so much for coming, the AC in here is totally dead.” She then dragged him to where the vents were and had him inspect. Paul couldn’t stop from looking over at the man as Sasha taught him how to break down the machines. 

“Paul?” Sasha said, Paul breaking out of his trance and turning back to her. She just chuckled and shook her head. “Since he’s got you so distracted, that’s Daryl, the shop’s maintenance man. He does sort of a freelance thing, but he’s our regular electrician, plumber, whatever. He fixes shit. Now get back to paying attention so I don’t have to walk you through it every time.”

Paul blushed, causing Sasha to chuckle again, and he tried his best to keep his attention on the instructions he was supposed to follow. When Maggie and Daryl were done, Maggie insisted on giving the maintenance man a croissant for the road, to which Daryl reluctantly accepted, and gave Paul a nod on his way out.

On his drive home for the next few days, there was an eerie feeling all throughout Paul’s body. The roads had no streetlights, so he drove with his high beams on almost the entire time. It only took him about twenty minutes to get to and from Greene’s, but Saturday night it felt like an hour. The whole time he avoided looking in the rearview mirror out of the fear that he might see someone back there, staring at him. A shiver ran through him and he shook his head. He just focused on the radio and the road until he reached his house. As soon as he shut his car door, he looked up at the tall house looming over him. He sighed, dread creeping its way through his veins, and walked up to the front door. When he locked it behind him, he tried the knob a few times, just to make sure it didn’t budge. On edge was an understatement; his skin wouldn’t stop crawling and he felt like he was going to come face to face with something with every corner he turned. 

His chest felt heavy and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he walked through the house. He immediately turned on the TV to fill the big empty house with background noise. He sat on his couch, trying to relax, but he still had that antsy feeling of being under someone’s watchful gaze. His friends were coming over in about an hour, so he supposed he could maybe set up a bit before they got there. Anything to distract himself from the feeling of being followed by something  _ very closely _ around the house. 

He looked through his cabinets, and filled a bowl up with some chips he bought on his grocery trip with Tara. He got a beer out of the fridge and popped it open. He set it on the kitchen table and put his hair up in a bun. The house was hotter than usual, so Paul cracked open a few of the windows and let some air in. It helped a bit, and it also seemed to help with the eerie feeling he had. He took a second to breathe in the fresh air in the kitchen, and then moved on to the living room. He cracked two windows in there as well, then turned on the christmas lights. He plopped down onto the couch, and looked around the room. It felt calmer, somehow, the warm breeze and dim lighting turning his living room into a peaceful space. 

“Okay, so step one to making the house feel better; open the windows.” Paul said to himself, but maybe also slightly to whatever might be listening to him. “Noted.”

Tara, Sasha, Maggie, and Glenn all got to his place about forty five minutes later, happily coming through his front door with cases of beer and two pizzas. They all took up in the living room, throwing their coats on the couch and starting in on the food. Tara hooked her phone up to Paul’s speakers and held up her beer.

“A toast!” she said. “To Paul, for getting off his ass and finally fucking moving to Georgia.”

They all held up their beers and laughed as they cheered. Paul couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face. He hadn’t actually had a good laugh in about a week, and this just felt so good. Having people around, making the house feel like a home.  _ Okay, step two; don’t be such a hermit. _ Paul thought to himself. 

That night when Paul went to bed after everyone left, the air in the house felt a bit lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for sticking with me and sorry for the late update!! I know that this is short and the last few chapters have mostly been introductions, but I promise the next one will be longer and will get much more into plot. :)


	4. Chapter 4

The opening shift at Greene’s was definitely Paul’s favorite time of the week. Every Monday he had to be in at 6 AM, as opposed to his usual 8 AM shift, but it was worth it. He got to go in and open alone now, since he had picked everything up pretty quickly over the last few weeks he’d been working there. He got to put the music  volume up while he set up all the machines and cleaned, and would make himself the first coffee of the day. 

Except today, when Paul woke up with his alarm, he looked at his phone and saw that it hadn’t charged overnight and was only on ten percent. He threw the covers off him, rubbing his eyes. He leaned down to check the charger, and tried plugging it in a few times, but each time nothing happened. He sighed, praying that his phone wasn’t the problem and that he could just buy a new charger. 

He got up and headed to the bathroom down the hall, but when he flicked the light switch, nothing happened. He tried it a few more times, but gave up and realized the power must have gone out during the storm last night. 

“Shit.” he muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair. There was no way he was going to be able to stay in this house without electricity.  _ Especially _ not with all the weird shit that had been going on. 

He walked downstairs and out of the side door of the house to check the fuse box. When he opened the the door to the box, he had no idea what the hell he was even looking for. He silently cursed himself for not listening to his dad when he taught him about this stuff when he was younger.

Paul figured he’d might as well save the shower for later and get ready for work. He headed back to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth, turning on the flashlight on his phone. When he finished, he went back to his room and got dressed, and threw his hair up in a bun. 

 

When he walked into the shop, he came face to face with none other than maintenance man Daryl. Paul froze as he looked up at the other man, instantly captivated by the bright blue eyes looking at him from behind strands of brown hair. Daryl had stopped by the cafe a few more times after their brief first meeting, each time giving Paul a nod as he would head to the back office. The only two things Paul had learned about the maintenance man was that he didn’t really speak, and that when he was focused on something, he would bite his lower lip and it drove Paul crazy.

“Morning,” Paul greeted, giving him an easy smile, and walking past him through the doorway.

Daryl nodded, muttering “mornin’” before heading out the back door. Paul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and headed into the kitchen to start opening up and make himself a coffee.

When Daryl walked back in from outside, he was carrying a ladder, heading towards the back office. 

“Hey, Daryl?” Paul asked, causing the other man to lift his head and look back at him. “Do you want a coffee?”

Daryl shook his hair out of his eyes. “Don’ have to do that.” he replied in his gruff voice.

Paul shrugged. “I always make myself one anyway, I wouldn’t mind making an extra.”

Daryl looked down at the floor, then back up at Paul and shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

“So how do you take it?” Paul asked playfully. “You totally seem like a latte guy, I can draw a cat or something in the foam if you want.”

Daryl scoffed at the barista. “Just black.”

“Got it.” Paul nodded and turned back to the counter as Daryl walked into the office with his ladder.

It didn’t take too long for Paul to set up, and he had about a half hour left before he had to open the doors. He sat at one of the tables with his coffee and his phone, scrolling through facebook this and twitter that. He sighed and closed the apps, looking up to catch Daryl coming out of the office with the ladder.

“Your coffee’s on the pickup station.” Paul said to him. 

Daryl picked it up and sipped it, nodding. “Thanks.” Paul watched out of the corner of his eye as Daryl then brought the ladder next to the counter and climbed it.

“So,” Paul said, leaning on his elbows on the table. “What’s got you here so early?”

Daryl began unscrewing the light bulb in the fixture above the pickup counter. He popped the bulb out and nodded to it, leaning down to put it on the counter before picking up a new one to replace it. “Few lights went out, and Maggie’s office ceilin’ is leakin.” he grunted.

“Oh!” Paul exclaimed, recalling this morning. “You don’t by any chance happen to do house calls, do you?”

Daryl glanced at him from the corner of his eye and raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Paul breathed out a laugh. “Sorry, that came out weird. I meant-- My electricity went out, and I don’t know how to fix it. Sasha said you freelance sometimes.”

Daryl looked over at him, but when their eyes met, he quickly looked away. Paul’s stomach flipped, so he took in a deep breath and prepared for the man’s answer.

“Where d’ya live?” he asked.

Paul smiled. “I’ll write it down for you. Does 8 o clock work for you?”

Daryl nodded, and Paul handed him the address. Maggie walked in through the back door in a flurry, hands full of papers and a coffee thermos with it’s contents sloshing over the top. She greeted them with a smile and then headed to the back office.

Paul watched as Daryl pocketed the paper and nodded at him before following Maggie.

 

The shift went by as usual; morning rush, lunch rush, then a lull, then closing at five. While Paul closed up the register and counted up his tips, Maggie came over to him.

“So,” she leaned on the counter next to him. “Daryl’s going to your house tonight?”

“Huh?” he glanced at her, then realized he was blushing, so he looked back down at his money. “Oh, uh, he’s just coming to check my electricity.”

“Oh?” Maggie innocently widened her eyes. “That code for somethin’?”

Paul couldn’t help but laugh then, shaking his head. “It's totally not like that.”

“Okay, okay, if you say so.” Maggie shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee from one of the pots. “I’m just sayin’, me and Sasha have noticed how flirty you get whenever he comes in here. You can’t stop smiling and you have this super suave voice you put on. Its adorable.”

Paul groaned, wanting to die right there. “Okay, one, I can’t help if I’m charming as hell. And two, okay, yeah, he’s attractive, sure. And he’s got his own business, and he drives a motorcycle--”

“And he’s single.” Maggie interrupted, taking a sip of her coffee. “And him and his last boyfriend broke up about six months ago, so you’re good.”

Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled, put his tips in his wallet and then grabbed his sweatshirt from off the coat rack behind the counter. “Bye, Maggie.”

She smiled mischievously over the rim of her coffee mug and waved him goodbye.

 

Paul stopped at Target after he left work and bought a few flashlights and packs of batteries. He grabbed some candles too, just in case. Since he got home by six, he figured he had time to nap, especially since he had woken up earlier than usual this morning. So he collapsed on his couch, kicked off his boots, and fell into a deep sleep.

_ A sunlit room, a warm summer breeze coming in through the window. A soft, warm bed with perfectly fluffed pillows. You roll over to face your lover, your thumb lightly ghosting over her cheekbone, her skin smooth and soft. She smiles at you, eyes still half closed with sleep, and you’ve never felt warmer than you do now.  _

 

A knocking on the front door woke Paul out of his sleep. He looked around, the strange dream he had still creeping on the edges of his consciousness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The room was much dimmer than it was when he went to sleep, and the clock said it was ten past eight. He got up and opened his front door to find Daryl standing there with a toolbox in one hand and his car keys in the other.

“Hey,” Paul rasped, voice still heavy with sleep. “Come on in. Thanks so much for coming.”

“S’no problem.” Daryl stepped through the threshold into the dark house and looked around the foyer. Paul closed the door behind them and led Daryl back to the living room.

“The house is pretty old.” Paul stated. “So it might just be shitty wiring, but then again I’m no expert.”

Paul sat on the couch and started putting the batteries in the flashlights, and as he did that, Daryl observed the candles. 

“Y’want these lit?” Daryl picked one up that was lilac scented. “S’dark as shit in here.”

“Yeah, please, that’d be great.” Paul replied, turning on one of the flashlights and setting it light side up on the coffee table. Daryl had taken his lighter out of his pocket and began lighting the candles. Paul glanced at the other man and noticed that the flickering candlelight  across his face made his rugged features look a bit softer. For the first time since they had met, Paul realized just how  _ handsome _ Daryl was _. _ He had figured Daryl might be a bit older than him; he had a few silver hairs in his beard and bags under his tired eyes. But in this light he looked young, maybe almost Paul’s age. 

Daryl made eye contact with him then, soft eyes gazing right into his. It wasn’t startling, like it usually is when somebody catches you staring. It felt warm, natural. It felt like forever before Paul finally broke the gaze, his heart now hammering, almost jumping out of his chest at the intensity of the moment. He could feel his face go red hot, so he cleared his throat and focused on the task at hand.

Once all the candles were lit, and the first four flashlights were set up to create some sort of useful lighting, Paul grabbed the last one and turned it on.

“Come on, I’ll show you the fusebox.” Paul lead them down the hall to the kitchen, out the back door to the side of the house. He handed Daryl the flashlight and watched as he worked. Paul looked around him while he waited; he observed the field that surrounded his house and got a chill throughout his body. The view reminded him of the first weird dream he had in the house. He tried to shake the feeling, but it was all creeping back up on him, the first dream with all the blood and bone, whatever it was that was constantly watching him--

“Fusebox is all clear.” Daryl’s voice snapped Paul out of whatever trance he had been in, and he turned back to face the other man. “We can always check--”

The very loud sound of glass shattering then came from the open kitchen window just above them. Both men looked up, then at each other.

“You got a roommate?” Daryl asked, pointing at the window. 

Paul’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No.” 

Daryl looked up at the window again, then put his finger up to his lips and looked Paul right in the eyes, as intense as Paul had ever seen him. “C’mon. Follow me.”

Paul followed him back around the other side of the house to Daryl’s pickup truck, where Daryl reached into the bed and pulled out a crossbow loaded with five arrows. He bent into a shooting position, so Paul bent to his level and stayed close behind him. Once they got back around to the front door, Paul followed Daryl’s every move. He looked around every corner that Daryl did from the front door all the way to the kitchen. There, they found the coffee mug cabinet open, broken ceramic shards all over the floor, and a photograph that was ripped in half.

Paul felt another chill run up his spine, so cold that it dug straight into his bones, paralyzing him, as if he had been left out in the snow in soaking wet clothes. He hadn’t realized that he was full on shivering until Daryl had placed a hand on his shoulder and was saying his name. Paul looked up at him realized that he could see his breath coming out in clouds in front of him, despite it almost being summer. There was another crash from the living room, causing Daryl to flinch and tighten his grip on Paul’s shoulders.

“Paul,” Daryl was in front of him now, holding him by both shoulders and looking right into his eyes. “We gotta get outta here.”

Paul lightly pushed Daryl away from him and walked toward the broken glass, ignoring Daryl’s pleas to get out of the house, and picked up the photograph. He put the two pieces together to show a wedding photo; a man with a professional looking smile, and a woman with soft eyes and a timid grin.

Paul swayed a bit, feeling dizzy, his vision going double and his head feeling like lead. He felt Daryl pulling him by the arm down the hall and out the front door, and then he felt nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the start of this roller coaster of a plot! i really enjoyed writing this chapter and i'm super excited to finish writing this story. thank you for all the feedback and for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

    When Paul woke up, he heard muffled voices in the distance. As he came to, he cracked his eyes open and found himself in a unfamiliar, warmly lit room. He was laying on a soft couch, covered with crocheted blankets. He tried to sit up, but gave up when there was throbbing ache in the side of his skull. He hissed at the pain, and began coughing, his throat feeling as though it was coated in sawdust.

    Maggie came into the room then, and Paul was both confused and overjoyed to see her.

    “You’re awake,” she said with relief. She knelt down next to the couch and put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you warm enough?”

    Paul nodded slightly, then began coughing again when he tried to speak.

    “Here,” she handed him some water and watched as he took small sips. “We’re at my apartment.”

    Jesus tried to put the night together in his head, only bits and pieces coming back to him. “How long was I out for?”

    “‘Bout three hours. It's almost midnight.” Maggie replied. “Daryl said you were shivering pretty bad before you passed out. Said he didn’t know if you’d make it to a hospital, so he brought you here. I’m trained in first aid and have some medical supplies from when I took courses in college.”

    _Daryl_. He had been with Daryl when he fainted, which brought the night back to him. The house, the mess in the kitchen, the photograph--

    “Where is he?” Paul asked then. “Where’s Daryl?”

    “He left about an hour ago. Said he had to take care of something.” Maggie said.

    Paul tried to ignore the sinking in his chest. Daryl had probably dropped him at Maggie’s and went home, freaked out about the whole night. Paul wouldn’t exactly blame him; everything that had happened was a lot to process. He wasn’t sure that he completely understood it himself. The only thing he knew was that something sinister was in his house, and now it had driven Daryl away. Everything that was running through his head was exhausting him, and all at once he felt sleepy again.

    “You get some more sleep,” Maggie said, giving him a small smile. “I’ll come check on you before I leave for work tomorrow. You can sleep as long as you need to.”

    “But I’m in tomorrow at--”

    “Jesus, don’t even think about coming into the cafe.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at him sternly. “I’m givin’ you the day off. Use it to get some rest.”

She got up then, and headed back to the room she came in from. Paul repositioned himself, curling the blankets around his body, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety, and sunk into the first night of uninterrupted sleep he had gotten in weeks.

 

    The next morning brought sun, warm weather, and a kind of ambition Paul hadn’t felt in a while. He had gotten up off of Maggie’s couch at almost noon, taking advantage of his day off as she had said he should. He figured the least he could do was tidy up a bit, so he folded the blankets and sent Maggie a text thanking her for taking care of him.

    He called a cab to take him home, and when he walked in the front door, the house felt empty. All of his stuff was still in the same place, even the ceramic glass shards still littered around the kitchen floor, but for some reason the whole place felt abandoned. Like something terrible happened there a long time ago, but all that was left was the broken aftermath. It wasn’t so much eerie as it was sad. The house felt lonely, like something was missing, and the feeling of hollowness washed over Paul in one big wave. He made his way through the kitchen to the side door and walked to the back of the house. He looked out over his property, the empty field that led to the forest, and took a deep breath in as the warm breeze swayed the grass all around him.

    So many things didn’t add up. He didn’t really know much about the supernatural, but he knew that this wasn’t just a harmless spirit. Something last night had set it off that it physically harmed him.

He walked back in the kitchen and figured his first step might as well be cleaning up. He set the photograph on the counter, then he grabbed the broom. He swept up the broken mug fragments into a dustpan, then tossed them in the trash.

    Paul settled on his couch, laptop in his lap, and googled his address. Several articles came up, the first one being one from the town’s local newspaper.

 

**_Horrific Hawking Murders_ **

_Friday May 20, 1977, Judd Hawking, and an individual later identified as Mariah LaReaux, were found dead on the property of the Hawking’s farmhouse off of Elm st. Police also found Fiona Hawking, Judd Hawking’s wife, at the crimescene, crying and holding a pistol._

_Photos of the crime scene showed the bodies of Mr. Hawking and LaReaux, lying in a pool of blood in the dirt just on the edge of the forest._

_Mrs. Hawking was taken into custody, but has since not spoken a word. Her trial is set to start at the end of the month._

 

    Paul read through it a few times before opening a new tab and searching “Hawking Murders, Georgia.” He clicked on a few articles, a few sentences jumping out at him here and there. After searching all three names and scouring the web for almost an hour, Paul learned that Judd and Fiona Hawking had owned his house from the late sixties until that night in 1977. Judd had been big in the tobacco business, and Fiona was a stay at home wife. He couldn’t find much on Mariah LaReaux, just an obituary and a few pictures. But when Paul looked close enough at the portrait that had been in the obituary, he froze. The woman smiling at him from his computer screen--the warm, radiant energy she gave off--the woman from his dream.

    Paul sighed heavily, shut his laptop, and rubbed his hands over his face. He could sit there in his haunted farmhouse, or he could do something with himself.

    He picked up his phone and punched call on Tara’s contact name.

    “Yello?”

    “Hey,” he responded. “What are you up to tonight?”

 

“I was so happy when you asked to go out!” Tara said over the music as she and Paul leaned against the bar, waiting for their drinks. “I feel like you moved down here and I see you _less_ than when you lived in Virginia!”

“Yeah,” Paul ran his hand through his hair, matching Tara’s volume. “I’m sorry, things have been kinda weird lately.”

They paid the bartender then headed to a high top near the bar. Tara took a sip

of her cocktail. “Weird how?”

Paul shrugged, sipping his beer. “I dunno, like...haunted?”

    “Oh shit,” Tara’s eyes widened. “Did you see something?”

    “I mean, kind of?” he replied. “Not so much what I saw. Ever since I moved in I feel like I’m being watched. Then the other night Daryl was over fixing--”

    “Wait--” Tara put her hand up to stop him. “Daryl? The guy from the coffee shop?”

    Paul rolled his eyes. “Yes, he was fixing my electricity after the storm knocked it out. Or he would have, if some ghost wasn’t busy trashing my kitchen.”

    Someone called out Tara’s name, and three people walked over. Paul smiled and made small talk until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Daryl with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, his hair hanging over his eyes.

    “Needa talk t’ya outside.” He said, voice low.

    Paul nodded and told Tara he’d be right back, and left the group. He followed Daryl through the crowd gathering by the bar and out the side door to the alley. Daryl lit his cigarette and pushed his hair back on the exhale. Paul got caught up in admiring his jawline and forgot why they were out there in the first place.

Daryl looked at him then, and Paul felt the buzz he had on for the first time all night.

“How ya feelin’?”

That definitely wasn’t what Paul expected to hear, especially not after Daryl disappearing last night.

“Much better, thank you. Maggie’s a pretty good nurse.” Paul smiled.

Daryl huffed a laugh and took another drag of his cigarette. “You been back to the house?”

Paul arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Why?”

“Anythin’--” Daryl cleared his throat. “Did anything happen?”

“No, nothing. It was actually really quiet when I got there.” Paul replied. His heart still felt a little heavy from the feeling. “It almost felt like nothing ever happened.”

Daryl just nodded and took one long drag of his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke and hunching his shoulders a bit.

“Are, um..” Paul started. “Are you alright?”

Daryl looked at him and shrugged and nodded, trying to hide a smirk. “‘M fine. ‘M not the one that fainted.”

Paul folded his arms. “Oh, really? _You_ try spending a night in that house. Whatever’s there hates me.”

“Fine.” Daryl replied, stubbing out his cigarette.

Paul narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’ll spend a night in the house.” Daryl explained. “See exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Paul met Daryl’s eyes, finding a look that challenged him.

“Oh?” Paul arched an eyebrow, giving Daryl a smirk. “There’s a ‘we’ now?”

Daryl shrugged, and Paul caught his blush before he turned his head away. “Don’ think anyone’s gonna believe us if we tell ‘em what happened. And the way you passed out tells me you ain’t doin’ this alone without dyin’ or losin’ a limb or somethin’.”

The edge in Daryl’s voice that was egging him on was really starting to get to his alcohol influenced mind. He decided then that he could probably listen to Daryl speak forever and never get bored of his voice.

“Fine.” Paul said. _As long as you don’t stop talking._ “Tomorrow night. I get out of work at six.”


	6. Chapter 6

Paul hadn’t realized at the time how bold his challenge to Daryl Dixon had been. He mostly blamed his liquid courage, but also the intense focus in Daryl’s eyes just dared him to go for it. He was too nervous to care about that now though, because he was an hour from the end of his shift at the cafe and Daryl was sleeping over that night to help him talk to ghosts. His face warmed up at that thought, both out of embarrassment and that  _ Daryl  _ was sleeping over  _ his house. _

“You look like you’re feeling better.” Maggie snapped him out of his thoughts as she squeezed by him behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” he recuperated and gave her a warm smile. “Thanks again for taking care of me. I owe you.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me. Would do it anytime.” She patted him on the shoulder and leaned back against the counter while Paul continued working. “You talk to Daryl since then?”

Paul nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I actually saw him last night when I was out with Tara.”

“Good.” She said. “He’d been texting me after he left that night, making sure you were alright.”

“He did?” Paul looked at her now, heart missing a beat. Maggie grinned and Paul rolled his eyes. Maggie walked away and into her office, and left Paul to finish cleaning.

 

When Paul got home, he figured he might as well go on with his own routine instead of waiting around for his crush to come over like some nervous teenager. 

He started with dinner; he wasn’t sure exactly what Daryl liked to eat, and as he searched through his cabinets and fridge he realized he didn’t have much food. Paul’s shoulders sulked a bit, letting himself mope for a second. He had been a trooper since he moved into this hell house, so he threw a little pity party over having to go grocery shopping because at least that felt normal.

He heard a motorcycle pulling into his driveway, and a moment or two after it stopped, there was a knock at his front door. Paul opened it to Daryl standing there with his hands in his pockets, shoulders a bit hunched, hair hanging in his eyes. He looked a lot more like the quiet, brooding maintenance man from the coffee shop, and less like the the confident man he had talked to last night outside the bar.

“Hey, come on in.” Paul said. Daryl followed him into the living room and glanced around. “No crossbow this time?”

“Wasn’t much help last time,” Daryl shrugged. “When did the electricity come back?”

“Late last night, it was back on when I got home from the bar.” Paul said, sitting on the couch, Daryl sitting on the other side. “You hungry? I don’t have anything really, but we could always order a pizza.”

Daryl shrugged. “Pizza’s good with me.”

Paul called the food in, and they both sat in silence for a moment after that. 

“So, a sleepover,” Paul said. “That’s the next step in our relationship? You move pretty fast, Dixon.”

“Thought I was here to make sure you pass out on a soft surface this time.” 

Paul chuckled and stood up. “I’m gonna head out for a smoke, you wanna join?” 

Daryl followed him to the front porch and they sat next to each other on the stoop. Paul took a lighter and a rolled joint from his pocket and put it into his mouth. Daryl raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Oh, sorry. You cool with this?” Paul said from the side of his mouth.

Daryl shrugged and chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “I don’ mind.”

Paul lit the joint and inhaled, holding it for a moment. He exhaled and looked out to the road, empty and dark. The air was still all around them, and the sound of crickets and frogs echoed from the fields surrounding the house. 

“Cool motorcycle,” Paul said. “How old did you start riding?”

Daryl blew out a stream of smoke. “‘Bout fifteen. M’ brother taught me how to fix bikes and I been ridin’ ever since.”

Paul took another hit of the joint and offered it to Daryl, who turned it down. Paul watched as he licked his lips before putting his cigarette to his mouth. His cheeks hollowed a bit as he pulled the smoke into his lungs, and Paul had to consciously turn his head away so he’d stop staring. 

“So what do we do about the whole ghost thing exactly?” Paul asked.

“Guess we could see if it does anything tonight?” Daryl suggested.

“I guess. I did some research on the house and it said there was a murder here, which you’d think would be mentioned during the sale process.” Paul scoffed. “A woman killed her husband and another woman.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl said. “Think it's one of them?”

“Probably, maybe the wife?” 

The food delivery car pulled up then, and Glenn stepped out. He carried their pizza up the walkway and waved at them.

Daryl smiled at him and waved back. “Hey, man.”

Glenn gave Daryl a fist bump and handed him the pizza. “What’s up, guys?”

“Takin’ care of a ghost problem.” Daryl replied casually, and took another drag of his cigarette. 

“Speaking of which.” Paul reached for his wallet. “I got the food, since you’re lending me your expert ghost hunting services.” 

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, I got it. For letting me crash here.”

They both started taking cash out of their wallets, until Glenn looked between the two of them and waved them both off. “Its cool, I got this one. I gotta get back to work though, I’ll see you guys later.”

They waved goodbye and took the food inside. Daryl put it down on the coffee table in the living room and Paul walked into the kitchen for plates and napkins. 

“Hey, you want something to drink?” Paul called, and Daryl walked into the kitchen doorway. “I have beer, pizza’s best friend.”

Daryl accepted and after a couple of slices and a few beers, Paul realized that nothing remotely creepy had happened so far that night.

“Been pretty quiet.”

Daryl nodded, glancing around. “We’ll see what happens when it gets to midnight.” When Paul cocked his head at him he continued. “Y’know. The witchin’ hour.”

“I do not know,” Paul sipped his beer. “What made you believe in ghosts, anyway?”

“Saw a chupacabra once. Now I’m a believer.” Daryl finished off his beer and relaxed back against the couch. He seemed to have loosened up a bit, now settled a bit closer to Paul on the couch.

“A chupacabra? Really?” Paul giggled. “In Georgia?”

“Damn right,” Daryl nodded, “Hidin’ up in them backwoods, I swear.”

Paul laughed and noticed Daryl’s mouth quirked up on one side, a half smile that made Paul want to melt. Daryl met his eyes then, his expression was soft but focused completely on Paul. Paul felt his heart speed up and his intoxicated state start to take over his instincts.

Footsteps coming from upstairs broke their gaze. They both looked up at the ceiling and then at each other. They were light, carrying on above them, fading off into the kitchen, before stopping altogether. 

Paul waited for the icy feeling from last time, waited for his chest to constrict with cold so badly that he couldn’t breathe, but it never came. Instead, as they walked into the kitchen, a wave of calm washed over him. Even the atmosphere in the kitchen was bathed in a warm light, one that reminded Paul of home. The smell of food filled his nostrils, roasted and seasoned aromas wafting through the room. The sound of laughter came from upstairs, light, almost like a song. Paul glanced at Daryl then, and noticed he had a serene look on his face. Paul realized that was the most content he had ever seen him and it was beautiful.

It didn’t feel like a trance, not really. It felt more like they were walking through someone else’s version of this house. Like they were being shown a memory, a projection of something that once happened in this very place. This was the tamest of the interactions he’d had with the spirit in his house, and he didn’t know what else they had been waiting for. So he followed the laughter.

Daryl followed behind him until they reached the bedroom. They walked inside and Paul looked around. Nobody was there. 

In the middle of the bed, there was a small box he had never seen before. 

 

“Do we open it?” Paul asked. He was pacing around next to the kitchen table while Daryl sat in a chair, cigarette lit in his hand because he would do anything to get the smell of cooking food out of his nose. It had smelled nice, and it wasn’t like it had hurt him, but the fact that it should not have been there bothered Paul, and to be honest, freaked him out a little.

Daryl took a drag of his cigarette and wiped his hand over his face. “I guess we…” He trailed off, then stubbed his cigarette and reached for the box on the table. “Yeah. We open it. Fuck it.”

“Wait!” Paul put his hand on top of Daryl’s to stop him, and Daryl raised an eyebrow at him, but his hands froze still. Paul quickly pulled his hand away. “What if--I don’t know, we don’t know where this thing was. Or what’s gonna come out of it.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Daryl shook his head. “We’ll open it on the porch. C’mon, smoke’s givin’ me a headache anyway.”

Out on the porch with the light on, Daryl lit up a second cigarette and held the box on his lap. He set the cigarette on the ashtray and took the lid off the box. Paul glanced away at first, but ultimately his curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to Daryl to see what it was. 

“It’s a bunch of letters.” Daryl said, picking up a stack of papers and envelope tied together with a ribbon. He untied it and unfolded the first one in the stack. He handed it to Paul when he was done, and as he read, Daryl looked through the stack, then sighed.

“We’re gonna be here a while.” 

 

By the time they had finished reading the letters, discussing them, and sorting them chronologically, it was 2 AM.

“So, there were no names mentioned. There are dates on all of them. And…” Paul looked at the notebook he had brought out at around midnight because his memory was starting to fade the later it got and writing things down usually helped.    

“And they’re all in the same handwriting.” Daryl added, voice raspy from exhaustion and chain smoking.

“Right.” Paul leaned his head back against the house behind him and wondered how much longer they should stay up. His anxiety would probably keep him up, or at the very least he’d fall asleep and have more nightmares. 

“What do you think it all means?” Daryl asked.

Paul furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Okay, well, I’ve written down everything we know. From the articles I read to the letters, and the events that took place last time and tonight--”

Daryl met his eyes then, and Paul put his hand over his face and started laughing. His exhaustion was starting to make him loopy, but he couldn’t help it.

Daryl turned his head to the side a bit and breathed out a laugh. “What?”

Paul shook his head then rolled his eyes. “Why are you helping me with all of this?”

Daryl’s eyes widened a bit and he glanced away, and Paul could  _ swear  _ he saw him blush. He didn’t care how tired he was.

“Like, you could be at home sleeping right now. Or watching TV, or--” Paul cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Anything else but--”

“Huntin’ ghosts?” Daryl looked at him with half lidded eyes.

Paul’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips on instinct. He was on fire inside.  _ Get it together, Rovia. _

Daryl shrugged. “This is more interestin’, I guess.”

Paul nodded, stood up, and stretched. “Guess so.” Daryl stood up and followed Paul inside. 

“I’m about to pass the fuck out,” Daryl said walking towards the couch.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want.” Paul froze when he realized Daryl was staring at him. “I mean, uh, I’ll sleep on the couch, if you want the bed. You’re the guest, and I nap on that couch all the time. Its comfy as shit.”

“I’ll take the comfy couch, thank ya very much,” Daryl said, throwing the blanket over himself and settling in with his arm behind his head on the pillow.

Paul sighed and waved him goodnight. He headed upstairs and collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep instantly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this was worth the long wait i apologize once more *finger guns*

_ She stands by the window next to the back door, in her floral dress and white church shoes. She looks beautiful bathed in sunlight; but nothing, not even the sun makes you feel warmer than she does. _

_ You walk over to her and put your hands around her waist and settle your chin on her shoulder. She turns around in your arms and smiles before kissing you. _

_ “I’ll see you later, baby.” she kisses you again. “I love you.” _

 

_ A full moon bright over a field, the water from the creek nearby babbling, the warm breeze swaying the tall grass this way and that. _

__ _ A shrill, high pitched scream. Its bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You recognize the terrified pleading that you hear just up ahead. You know it’s her.  _

_ You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the bones, the gashes and… _

_ Your hand flies down to the pocket of your pants. It closes around the handle of the pistol, until you point it up at the culprit with the crossbow-- _

 

Paul gasped for air as he shot up in bed. The hair at the back of his neck was drenched in cold sweat. He was breathing heavily, looking around, grounding himself so he remembered where he was. He had never felt as planted in the dreams before as he did now. This was the most vivid one he had and there was this lingering eeriness that he couldn’t shake. He felt sad and a little disturbed, like he had watched something that he absolutely shouldn’t have.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded to open the door and headed out into the hall. He went to the kitchen, spotting Daryl still asleep on the couch on his way. He tiptoed until he reached the coffee maker and decided that was definitely his first step today. He had the day off, and he was dedicating his whole day to researching whatever the fuck was going on in his house. Who was the woman in the dreams? Why did they keep leading him back to that field?

Paul sighed and watched as the coffee maker gurgled to life and he relished in the smell of caffeine. His eyes drooped a bit now that his heart had stopped racing, so he poured a glass of cold water and chugged it. He heard Daryl stir in the living room, and eventually he walked into the kitchen. 

Daryl rubbed his eyes and gave Paul a small wave. “Mornin’.”

“Morning.” Paul gave him a tired grin. “How’d you sleep?”

Daryl sat down at the kitchen table. “You were right about your couch. Comfy as shit. How about you?”

Paul sighed. “I keep having these weird dreams. I feel like they’re trying to tell me something.”

“What kinda weird dreams?” Daryl asked.

Paul grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with coffee. “There’s always this woman in them, and I’m pretty sure it’s the woman from the news article I read.” Paul bit his lip and thought for a second; what was her name again? He took a sip of his coffee and then decided. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogged to the living room and retrieved his laptop from the coffee table. He brought it back to the kitchen table and immediately started to scroll through the articles he had saved on the matter.

“There she is!” Paul exclaimed as he turned the screen to Daryl. On it was a picture of a young woman with dark skin, brown eyes, and a warm, inviting smile. “That’s the woman in my dreams. Mariah Lareaux.”

Daryl bit at his thumbnail as he thought. “So who was she?”

Paul shrugged. “There was a husband and a wife that lived here, and the wife was found alive at the crime scene…Maybe she was the mistress?”

“That makes sense.” Daryl said. “What did ya say the couple’s name was again?”

“Uh,” Paul scrolled back up to the top of the article. “Hawking. Judd and Fiona Hawking.”

Daryl nodded. “I know that name from somewhere. I’ll ask m’ brother if he recognizes it. Maybe someone our pa knew.” 

“Really?” Paul asked. This was the first time Daryl had mentioned his family. “Hawking’s a pretty common name, y’know.”

Daryl shrugged. “Worth a shot, right?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “This is probably the most we’ve gotten out of this entire situation so far.”

“I’ll take what we can get.” Daryl stood up and stretched his arms over his head. Paul tried not to take notice of the sliver of belly that showed as Daryl’s shirt rose up, but he was only goddamn human. “‘M goin’ out for a smoke, you wanna come?”

Paul smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Daryl grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from the living room and they both went out to the back. 

Paul looked out across the field that was his backyard and breathed in the fresh air. The warm breeze teased the fast approaching summer, which made Paul feel at peace.

Unfortunately, the peacefulness was brief. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the screen read “Message from Alex.” Paul’s heart sunk and he couldn’t stop his face from falling as well. He just stared at the notification, didn’t open the text, just stared, wondering if he should or not. He hadn’t thought about Alex in weeks, not since all the freaky stuff started around the house. Not since he met Daryl.

“Ya good?” Daryl’s voice snapped Paul out of it and they made eye contact. Daryl looked genuinely concerned, and Paul cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yeah, sorry.” Paul said. “Just...someone I didn’t expect to hear from.”

Daryl nodded, a look on his face that showed he understood exactly what Paul meant. Hadn’t Maggie said something about Daryl having an ex boyfriend?

Paul put his phone back in his pocket and let the text be. He’d deal with it later.

 

Paul and Daryl agreed to meet up later that night to discuss research results. Daryl was going to talk to his brother about if their father had any ties to Judd Hawking. Paul had work until 6, but he had to stay until 7 for a staff meeting. He told Daryl he could wait for him at his house if he wanted, which Daryl politely declined, but said he’d be by around 8. 

Paul still had an hour to kill before he had to leave for work, so he figured he might as well deal with this text. He entered the passcode into his phone and he opened his message app. He took a deep breath before clicking Alex’s name, and then opened it to see what it said.

 

_ in georgia for the week for work. lemme know if u wanna meet up and talk. _

_ hope ur well xo _

 

Paul’s chest was tight and his skin was burning. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but he needed to shake it off. He went back to his messages and clicked on Tara’s name.

“Hey, dude!” she picked up. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” he replied. “Uh, so Alex texted me this morning.”

“Fuck, really? What did he have to say?”

Paul read the text aloud to her and she just scoffed. There was a pause on the other line, then “Are you going to see him?”

Paul sighed. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, I don’t blame you if you don’t. Or if you do.” She said. “Just...remember why you left in the first place, okay, Jesus?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I will. Thanks, Tara.”

“Anytime.” she replied. “So, anything else going on?”

Paul chuckled because he knew Tara needed some kind of update.

“I hung out with Daryl last night.” Paul said. “He slept over.”

Tara naturally freaked out and begged for details, but Paul assured her it was strictly ghost hunting. He promised to let her know if anything else happened, and she told him not to think too much about Alex. They said their goodbyes and Paul got ready for work. 

 

“Hey, Jesus.” Maggie greeted him as he walked behind the counter of the cafe.

“Hey,” he smiled. Maggie was such a genuinely good presence to be around, which was exactly what he needed today.

She began wiping down the counter. “How was your night?”

Paul shrugged, wiping out mugs with a dish towel. “It was alright. How about yours?”

Maggie nodded. “Pretty good. Glenn said he saw you and Daryl at your place.” 

Paul felt his cheeks get hot and he tried to keep his composition casual. “Oh, yeah, he brought us pizza.”

“He does that.” she smirked. “You and Daryl?”

“Barely. He’s uh…” Paul considered lying, but just rolled his eyes. “He’s helping me hunt ghosts at my house.”

Maggie snorted, then quickly hid her smile behind her hand. Paul looked at her, then breathed out a laugh due to the fact that it  _ was _ a bit ridiculous.

“I don’t mean to be nosy.” Maggie said. “I just...I’m glad you guys are hanging out.”

Paul smiled sheepishly. “Me too.”

The cafe got busier then, and Paul was busy for the rest of the evening. The staff meeting didn’t last long, but in the middle of it, he got a text from Daryl:

_ Hey, already in town after talkin to merle. Wanna meet up after your meeting? _

Paul got a rush of giddiness that he suppressed for the sake of being polite. He glanced outside; it was the point in the year where it didn’t get dark out until 8:30 PM, Paul’s favorite. After Maggie was done talking, he texted Daryl back telling him to meet him at Greene’s. When everyone was heading out, he walked out the front door to find Daryl smoking a cigarette. 

“Hey,” Paul smiled at him.

“Hey yerself,” Daryl replied.

“Where’d you wanna go? Anywhere in particular?” Paul asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Had somewhere in mind. There’s a pond out by the Greene farm. It’s real nice at sunset, and I got beers in the truck.”

Paul nodded and hummed in approval. “Sunsets and beers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounds a lot like a date.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows. “You know better?”

Paul’s heart skipped and he chuckled. “Just sayin’, if you wanted to romance me, Dixon, it’s working.” Paul comically batted his eyelashes at Daryl and he rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.

“C’mon, ‘fore I change my mind about hangin’ out with you.” he said. “Got lots of shit to tell you about.”

 

They took Daryl’s truck to the pond, and left Paul’s car at the Greene’s parking lot with Maggie’s permission. Paul looked out the window the whole ride there, watching the rolling farmlands of rural Georgia.

Daryl glanced over at him before looking back at the road. “How you likin’ Georgia?”

Paul shrugged. “It’s nice. Most of my friends are here, so I like being able to see them more.”

Daryl nodded. “How long you known Maggie?”

“Since she gave me a job.” Paul laughed. “But we have a mutual friend, Tara. How about you?”

“Since she was a kid, maybe six or seven.” Daryl replied. “Used to be a farmhand for her dad.”

They pulled up on a dirt road leading up to a large pond surrounded by tall grass. They got out, Daryl carrying the beers, and walked to the sandy part leading up to the water. Daryl handed the beers off to Paul and walked back to the bed of the truck. He brought back a blanket, which he laid out on the sand and sat down on it. Paul smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. Daryl shrugged and patted the seat next to him on the blanket. Paul shook his head and sat.

“So, what’d you find?” Paul leaned toward Daryl as he lit up a cigarette and pulled a folder out of his bag. He opened it up so that it rested across both their legs and moved a bit closer to him. Paul was too aware of the heat coming off of Daryl so close to him that he didn’t know if he’d be able to focus on the important information.

“Apparently my dad did know Judd Hawking.” Daryl explained, taking what looked like a photocopy of a photograph of a group of hunters. Daryl pointed at one man in the front, a rough looking redneck with a mean face.

“That’s my pa.” he said solemnly. His finger moved to the man next to him. “That’s Hawking.”

Paul nodded. “So they hunted together?”

“Yeah. Merle told me that Hawking and our pa used ta run weapons together. My dad bought my crossbow off ‘m.” Daryl explained.

“Oh,” Paul said. “Oh, wow.”

Daryl grunted low in agreement.

They both expected this whole situation would be hard to cope with, what with all the murder and vengeful ghosts, but now Daryl was connected to it on a personal level.

Paul took a deep breath and tried a more positive approach. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere.”

Daryl huffed and put the papers and folder next to him on the blanket. Paul opened one of the beers and handed it to Daryl. He took it and took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We’re gonna figure this out.” Paul said, staring out over the pond. “I can feel it. We’re getting close to cracking it.”

When he looked at Daryl again, he had still been looking at Paul, eyes softened and one side of his mouth slightly lifted. He looked tired, but content. Paul wanted to reach out his hand and lay it on Daryl’s cheek, but he didn’t think he himself could handle the rejection that might come with it. 

Daryl leaned their shoulders together and Paul froze. He relaxed his body into Daryl’s side, breathing in the fresh air and watching the sun settled just above the trees. The sky was still mostly blue, but there were tints of orange and pink scattered throughout. 

Paul rested his head on Daryl’s shoulder, fully admitting it to himself; He  _ really _ liked Daryl. Daryl didn’t seem to mind Paul’s occasional flirting, even indulged it at times. But whatever this was...it was enough for now.

“You really think we’ll figure this out?” Daryl asked, leaning into Paul’s touch.

Paul smiled at the dual meaning to himself. “God, I hope so.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next afternoon, they began their real investigation. They took a trip to the Greene farm to find out some information from Hershel Greene, Maggie’s dad and the town veterinarian.

“Hershel knew my pa,” Daryl said as they drove down the gravelly Georgia backroads. “Maybe he knows somethin’ bout Hawking.”

“I guess that’s a good next step.” Paul nodded, cranking his window open just a bit more. It was the first severely hot day they had all year, June’s first week bringing hell with it. Paul wished the damn A/C worked, but he’d manage. He was actually starting to get used to Daryl’s truck, with its rusty doors and the way it creaked way more than it should have. It was familiar; comfortable. Strands of hair were flying around his face, so he put it back in a bun. He noticed Daryl look at him for a little too long, and he chuckled.

“What?” Paul asked.

Daryl cleared his throat and shrugged. “Nothin’. Never seen ya with your hair up. Looks nice.”

Paul smiled and looked down at his lap, then at the road. “Thanks. You should let me put your up sometime.”

Daryl quirked an eyebrow and scoffed. Paul rested his arm on the center console, relaxing in the moment. A couple moments later, he felt Daryl’s arm rest next to his and their hands brushed. Paul didn’t look anywhere but the road, but he was still smiling.

When they got to the Greene farm, the first thing Paul noticed was the vastness of the place. There was just acres and acres of--no pun intended--green. There was a pond, a stable, a barn, a well, and a large farm house. It took Paul’s breath away.

“You worked here?” Paul gaped. “Maggie grew up here?”

“Yeah,” Daryl replied as they walked up the path to the house. “Hershel’s real nice, so’s his wife Annette.”

Daryl knocked on the door and not a moment later a woman with soft features and strands of hair falling in her face opened the door and smiled. 

“Daryl! Wonderful to see you.” she pulled Daryl into a hug which he returned with a smile.

She smiled warmly at Paul and hugged him as well. “Hi, I’m Annette.” 

“I’m Paul.” he said as they pulled away. “Its great to meet you. Maggie talks about you all the time.”

“Oh, that’s right! You work at the café, they call you Jesus, right?” she gave an exasperated laugh. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t been in for a while, Maggie’s just been doin’ so well with it all.”

She invited them in and they sat down in the dining room, then left to go get Hershel from his office.

“She might be one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.” Paul said.

Daryl nodded. “Sure is. She’s got an iron fist when she needs it. Raisin’ Maggie’s sister Beth wasn’t the easiest. Always had to get that kid out of trouble so her parents wouldn’t find out.”

Paul smiled then. “Maggie’s always on the phone with her at work. You guys were close?”

Daryl grinned and nodded. “Yeah. When she was a kid she always used’ta talk my ear off while I was workin’. Or she’d sing all the time.” Daryl shook his head. “Stubborn as shit, but she’s a good kid. Weird havin’ her off at college.”

An older man with white hair came in then and gave Daryl a big smile. “Daryl, how are ya?” He shook hands with both of them. “Hershel Greene, very nice to meet ya.”

Paul shook his hand with a smile. “Paul, nice to meet you.”

“So, what do you boys need?” Hershel sat down at the head of the table.

“We were just wonderin’ if you knew Judd Hawking.” Daryl said as casually as he could. “He knew my pa and Paul just bought his house.”

“I know he died in ‘77, so I can’t say I know him anymore, but I suppose I knew him a bit. He used to bring his wife’s cat into the clinic sometimes. His wife loved the damn thing like a child, and Lord knows he had money, so he made sure it was always taken care of.” Hershel explained. “He was a serious man otherwise. A bit frightening, I’d heard, especially when it came to his gun business on the side.”

“Same business he ran with my pa.” Daryl said gruffly.

Hershel nodded solemnly. “Yes, that business.”

Paul looked at Daryl who was biting at his thumb. He seemed forlorn, like he was keeping everything in so he wouldn't have to think about his father.

“Ham sandwiches okay for lunch boys?” Annette called from the kitchen. Paul secretly thanked her for breaking the tension.

“Yes my dear, that would be lovely.” Hershel stood up and went into the kitchen.

 

After lunch, Annette pulled Paul aside to help her do the dishes, and Hershel and Daryl went to sit on the porch. Paul dried the things that Annette washed, but he could hear Daryl and Hershel’s voices muffled outside. When he was done, Paul walked toward the porch door while Annette put some coffee on.

He could just barely hear Daryl and Hershel’s conversation. 

“How well did Hawking know my pa?” Daryl asked. “How deep in was he? What other shit did he do?”

“Son,” Hershel said. “Does it matter? It doesn’t affect the man that you are.”

Paul peeked out and saw Daryl puffing on a cigarette, contemplating. He motioned back inside with his hand.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

Hershel put a hand gently and comfortingly on Daryl’s shoulder. “I’ve been tellin’ you since you were a kid, Daryl; You’re not your father, or your brother. You’ve always been much more.”

Paul jumped and turned around when Annette said his name. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just…”

“It's okay, honey.” she smiled. “how do you like your coffee?”

“Oh, just milk, please.” he said and began setting out the mugs Annette took from the cabinet. He went back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I have sort of a strange question.”

Annette nodded. “Shoot.”

“Did you know Fiona Hawking?”

Annette set the coffee pot on and faced him. “Sort of. Hershel took care of her cat sometimes, but I knew her from church. She put together fundraisers, anything to keep the church goin’. Why?”

“I own her house now.” he replied. “Hershel told us about Judd, did he by any chance have a mistress?”

Annette’s face was a bit more solemn now, but she didn’t seem to want to ask more questions. “Well, once the...tragedy happened, everyone in the parish speculated that he was sleeping with his wife’s best friend, and it was hard to prove otherwise.”

Paul acted as oblivious as he could. “Who was her best friend?”

“Her name was Mariah. She and Fiona put together so many church events together, they were practically attached at the hip. But, betrayal definitely brought out the worst in Fiona Judd. God rest her soul.”

“So, she’s dead?” he asked. There hadn't been a follow up on her prison sentencing, or really on the outcome of the story at all aside from the first article he found.

“That’s right, took her own life.” Annette shrugged then. “Nothin’ on it in the papers because the parish wanted to keep it hush hush.”

“That’s…” Paul’s chest ached. “That’s really sad.”

Annette sat down in a chair across from him. “Well, I got a question for you now,” she said, sipping her own coffee. “Are you and Daryl…” she shrugged. “Together?”

Paul choked on his coffee. He grabbed a napkin from the table and Annette pat him on the back lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she chuckled. “Bad timin’. He’d probably get all flustered if he knew I asked anyway.”

“Its okay,” he replied, clearing his throat one last time. He took a deep breath before answering. “We’re not together, we’re just...we’re friends.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Annette tapped his arm with her finger. “I know that look of infatuation when I see it.

He blushed. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“Oh, not you, darlin’,” she replied. “Daryl. I’ve only seen it on him with one other person, and that ship has sailed and sunk already.”

Paul’s face heated up and his heart jumped; he was a romantic cliché as he processed that  _ Daryl _ had looked infatuated. Over  _ him _ .

She patted his arm as Daryl and Hershel walked back in to sit at the table and drink their coffee.

“I talked to Bethy earlier,” Annette said, mostly to Daryl. “You talk to her lately?”

Daryl nodded. “Last week. She texted me a picture of a dog she saw on campus.”

Annette laughed, a beautiful sound really, and turned to Paul. “Daryl was always like the ‘big brother’ to the kids, but he and Beth were always the closest.”

“Hard not ta be,” Daryl said. “Damn kid was always testin’ her limits.”

Hershel chuckled. “Bethy has always been a free spirit. She’s doing wonderful at school, though. Keeping her grades up.”

Daryl nodded. “Good. Always been smart.”

Paul tried so hard not to stare at Daryl with cartoon heart eyes the rest of the time they talked about Beth. Hearing more about what Daryl meant to this family, and vice versa, made Paul absolutely melt.

When they left, Annette told them to come back anytime and Hershel said to let him know if they had anymore questions.

On the car ride back, Daryl was quieter than usual, obviously tense. Paul decided not to approach it yet, as he wasn’t sure how.

The rolling Georgia fields were passing by in a blur as they sped down the roads. Paul closed his eyes and let the summer breeze caress his face and lull him into a light doze before they got back to his place.

Daryl parked outside his house and didn’t shut off the car.

Paul stopped before getting out. “You coming in?” 

Daryl was silent for a moment. “Nah, probably not a good idea.” 

“Oh?” Paul asked. “Why not?”

Daryl shrugged. “Somethin’ don’ like me in that house. I don’ wanna set it off.”

“Okay, so, what does that mean?” Paul raised an eyebrow.

Daryl didn’t look at him. “I shouldn’ be here anymore.”

“Hey,” Paul said softly, because he could feel Daryl distancing himself. “Nothing’s happened in a while. I really don’t think it's you.”

“I definitely ain’t helpin’.” he snapped.

Paul was taken back a bit, then sighed. “Daryl, c’mon--”

“‘M goin’ home.” Daryl huffed. He put the car back in drive and kept his foot on the brake to prove his point. He kept his eyes ahead of him while he waited for Paul to leave. 

Paul threw his hands up, frustrated. “Fine.” he got out of the car. “I’ll figure this out by myself.” he slammed the truck door and walked back up to his house, not looking back. He heard the truck turn and peel back down the road before he even reached his front door. 

Paul decided to grab his bowl from inside and sit on the back porch to smoke. He picked up his phone and looked at Alex’s message again.

 

_ in georgia for the week for work. lemme know if u wanna meet up and talk. _

_ hope ur well xo _

 

He wrote out and deleted about six different paragraph length responses before finally settling on something. He hit send and his text bubble came up on the screen as ‘delivered.’

_ no thanks. _

 

Paul asked Tara to come over and drink wine and talk about their romantic problems, but Tara said she actually had a hot date with a doctor that she was really excited about. So Paul had a glass of wine by himself to dim the overwhelming loneliness that came on all of a sudden, and took a nap on his couch. 

It couldn't have been more than an hour later when he was woken up to the sound of the front door slamming shut. He jumped out of his sleep, and got on his feet, ready to defend himself. Paul saw Daryl then, standing in the entrance to the living room. 

“Hi,” he said, walking over to Paul cautiously, as if Paul might spook or get angry.

“Daryl?” Paul asked. “I thought you didn’t want--”

Daryl had his hand on the back of Paul’s neck and his breath on Paul’s lips before he could finish his sentence. He was so wonderfully close to Paul, all Paul could smell was cigarettes and that musty sweet scent that was Daryl.

“Didn’ know what I wanted.” Daryl growled. He pushed his lips to Paul’s then, his other hand snaking around his waist to pull him closer. 

Paul was so confused at to what was happening, but for some reason he didn’t care. He was emotional, and this felt like it was helping. He just needed  _ more _ .

“Daryl, I..” Paul gasped for air as Daryl left bites and kisses all over his neck and throat. “I want you.”

That was all Daryl needed to hear before he laid them down on the couch and began grinding their hips together. Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head, he was dizzy with it. He clawed a hand into the angel wings on Daryl’s vest, Daryl’s hair falling down into his face as they kissed. 

Paul was desperate for skin to skin contact, he needed some sort of release. Before Daryl could finish unbuttoning his pants, Paul fell off of his couch and onto the floor, startled by a thump from right over his head. 

He looked around himself for a moment, wondering what the fuck just happened. He was fully clothed, he was alone, and he was horny as all hell. 

He wished he could have stayed in the dream, just for a little bit longer, but these things in his house kept interrupting everything. He felt angry all of a sudden; at Daryl, at Alex, at the ghosts. 

At himself. 

Paul stomped up the stairs into his room and threw one of his pillows at the wall with a yell. He went to his dresser and kicked it, tossing everything off the top. Amidst the collectibles that hit floor was a picture of him and his friends. It was taken when he first started dating Alex. They were standing close together, both smiling. It made him even angrier.

“What do you want?!” he yelled to the empty room, then went out into the hall. “What the fuck do you want?!” 

The house got a bit darker, as if the sun overhead was completely covered by clouds. The air was almost electric, the only thing moving was Paul as he stormed through the house. He stomped to the kitchen, because why not lose his mind here too?

“I don’t know how to help you.” he yelled loudly, with the last of his energy, glad he didn’t have nearby neighbors. He sat on the floor, back against a cabinet, head in his arms over his knees. His voice was quiet now, helpless. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Paul didn’t know how much time passed while he sat on the floor, but when he looked up, the sun was setting, and the room around him was tinted pink. Part of it was the sun reflecting off the clouds, but he could tell that it was unnatural. It felt how it did when Daryl had slept over, almost dream like. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was awake. After the last dream he had, he apparently  _ didn’t _ know better. A woman walked into his kitchen, and it took him no time at all to recognize her as Fiona Hawking.

She stood in the doorway, her expression apologetic. There was a soft pink glow around her entire form, just barely noticeable in the tinted lighting. She didn’t say anything, but instead slowly walked over to him, took his hand, and stood him up. She led him to the living room.

The room was completely different. All of the furniture was old fashioned dark wood, with a pale yellow table cloth on the coffee table, and a white floral couch. There were white gossamer curtains covering the windows, every breeze giving the space a calming atmosphere. 

Fiona let go of his hand and walked over to a photo album on the coffee table. She sat on the couch, the album on her lap, and patted the seat next to her. He sat, and watched as she flipped through the book to find a specific page. He found this strange, since all the pages she flipped through were completely empty. Finally, she stopped on the only page that had anything on it. 

It was a photo of Fiona and Mariah LaReaux, standing in a group outside of a church. Every person in the photo was out of focus, besides Mariah and Fiona. They stood next to each other, smiling as if they had shared an inside joke right before the photo was taken. When Paul looked at Fiona, she was looking sadly down at the photo. She looked back up at Paul, resting her hand on his, then gave it a small squeeze.

“Find her.” was all she said before Paul was alone again. When he came back to himself, he was on his own couch. It was his living room again, not a thing out of place, and when he finally sorted his head out, his eyes widened and he realized what had just happened.

He grabbed his phone and called Daryl. He got his voicemail, no surprise, but he needed to let Daryl know what he had found out just in case he decided to stop being a flake.

“Daryl, it's Paul. I figured it out. Everyone thought that Mariah LaReaux was Judd Hawking’s mistress.” He explained. “But LaReaux wasn’t  _ his _ mistress. She was his wife’s.” He waited a second, then said, “Call me back when you get this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to those of you who figured out the mistress thing before i even posted this haha i love seeing that people enjoy this story!  
> its just gonna keep gettin' gayer, stay tuned


End file.
